Revelations on Book Three
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: Revelations Series--insights into 'Prisoner of Azkaban' (first chapter, first story)


Title: Mother Hen  
Author: SchizoAuthoress  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Um...none really. (readers faint in surprise)   
Okay, okay... a little bit of hinted angst  
  
A/N: Don't you hate it when good fic ideas come to you in the shower? I mean, no pen, no   
paper, no computer...  
I had to keep this running in my head for a while. It's very short, though, and that may be   
the reason why.  
  
"'But the match,' said Harry. 'What happened? Are we doing a replay?'  
No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone.  
'We didn't--*lose*?'  
'Diggory got the Snitch,' said George. 'Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square...even Wood admits it.'  
'Where is Wood?' said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn't there.  
'Still in the showers,' said Fred. 'We think he's trying to drown himself.'"  
--Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban  
  
"Mother Hen"  
  
Oliver Wood was deep in his despondency over losing the day's Quidditch match. So   
much so, in fact, that he put up no resistance as a pair of cold hands pulled him out of the   
shower-spray and turned off the tap.  
  
A warm terrycloth bathrobe was thrown over his shoulders, but he made no move to   
put it on correctly. Percy Weasley gave him a severe look over the tops of his glasses,   
reminiscent of Madame Pince, and said sharply,  
  
"Come on, Wood! For Morgana's sake, it was *one* match. No good trying to catch   
pnemonia over it."  
  
Oliver glared at Percy half-heartedly. Percy sighed and quickly arranged the bathrobe   
so that the Quidditch captain wore it properly. He gave Oliver a strange look, one of long   
suffering, pity and sadness and anger and a little affection, all mixed.  
  
Plopping down heavily on one of the benches in the locker room, Oliver folded his arms   
and proceeded in a rather childish sulk. With another small sigh, Percy grabbed a thick   
white towel from the stack of them atop another bench and knelt down, patting Oliver's   
legs dry, all the while muttering,  
  
"Going to catch cold...game should have been cancelled...terrible weather to be outside   
in..."  
  
Even in the depths of his sulking and his depressive mood, Oliver was suddenly struck  
by the similarities between Percy and his mother. Fussy, worried about his health,   
grumbling about the weather...  
  
He wondered how Percy had gotten practice at mothering.  
  
Fluffy cloth came about his head like a shawl, and he was then subjected to a brisk   
towelling of his hair. Percy pulled the towel away after a minute or so, patting Oliver's hair   
to make sure it was dry.  
  
"There." He said, with a finality that again reminded Oliver of Mrs. Wood.  
  
The door to the locker room opened and the Weasley twins walked in. For a moment,   
Fred and George looked like they were going to laugh, but then something odd flickered in   
their eyes. They went over to the two seventh-years quietly.  
  
"Hi, Percy." Fred greeted, "Hey, Oliver."  
  
Oliver only nodded an acknowledgement, but Percy gave his younger brothers a tiny   
smile and said,   
  
"Come to fetch your captain?"  
  
"Yeah," George said, affecting nonchalance, "We finally decided that we would need   
him."  
  
"Nobody else can reach the books on the top shelf of the library," Fred cracked.   
George and Percy chuckled softly.  
  
"Well, I must be going...my rounds start again soon."  
  
Percy stode businesslike toward the door. George suddenly called out, "Hey, Perce?"  
  
"Yes?" Percy asked, turning slightly and looking at the twins over his shoulder.   
  
"Thanks. For everything."  
  
That same look, full of pity, sadness, suffering and love, came over Percy again. His   
eyes were suspiciously bright as he mumbled hoarsely, "You're welcome..." and then he   
was gone.  
  
Oliver had since come out of his petulant mood and was observing the scene with   
interest. As the twins handed him clean black students' robes, he noticed that they neither  
joked nor smiled as he was accustomed to. When Fred caught him looking at them, he   
forced a lopsided grin and said,  
  
"Well, did the water addle your brains, Wood? Do you need us t'help you get   
dressed?"  
  
"No." Oliver shook his head and finished dressing. Suddenly, he asked, "What were   
you saying 'thank you' to Percy for?"  
  
Fred paused and said shortly, "You wouldn't understand."  
  
Oliver thought about this for a while as he followed the twins to Gryffindor Tower. They   
gave the password (now changed to "badger stew") and climbed through the portrait hole.   
The only person in the Common Room was Hermione, and she was studying as usual.  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
During breakfast the next day, Oliver managed to get a seat next to Percy. The Head   
Boy gave him a weary smile and softly greeted him with,   
  
"Feeling better, Wood?"  
  
"Yes, thanks." Oliver replied, after a short pause. He reached for a biscuit and asked,   
"Pass the apple butter, would you?"  
  
Percy did. They ate in mutual silence until Oliver asked,   
  
"So...how are you doing, Percy?"  
  
The redhead shrugged. "Well enough. I mean, being on the lookout for Black isn't   
exactly a picnic in the woods...unless you have one in the Forbidden Forest." Oliver   
laughed lightly at that, and Percy continued, "But I can't complain."  
  
-Now or never,- Oliver thought. Aloud, he said, "Er, Percy...this may be none of my   
business, but...what did George mean when he said, 'Thanks. For everything.' in the   
locker room yesterday?"  
  
Percy became uncommonly interested in his fried eggs at that moment. It was a while  
before he finally answered, "You're right...it *isn't* any of your business, but I suppose I   
should tell you anyway."  
  
"You don't have t--"  
  
"Yes, I should." Percy snapped, cutting him off. "I wouldn't say so if I didn't mean it."   
  
His voice dropped, so that only Oliver could hear him. "I suppose that when George   
saw me manhandling you out of that blasted cold shower, it probably reminded him of   
when we were younger. You see, the twins used to play in the bathtub until the water got   
cold, and when they called me to take them out, they'd be shaking something terrible. I   
used to grumble at them about that..."  
  
"Something like, 'Going to catch a cold?', hm?" Oliver interrupted. Percy blushed a bit.   
Oliver wondered, "Why did you do that?"  
  
"Do what? Scold the twins?"  
  
"No, take them out of the bath and get them dressed. What was your mum doing?"  
  
Percy went quiet again, fiddling with his silverware. He muttered, "Oh, Mum was taking  
care of Ron and Ginny. They were just babies then..."  
  
Oliver couldn't shake the feeling that Percy was hiding something. But he let it go. If   
the Head Boy didn't want to talk, then the Quidditch captain wouldn't force him to.  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
Percy leaned heavily against the statue of Uther Pendragon in one of the upper   
corridors. It was extremely unpleasant to talk about when he'd been little, because even if   
he didn't go into detail, the memories would.  
  
He remembered the dark, close little places where the Weasleys hid during   
Voldemort's rise to power...the black bars chopping up his father's letters...the nights   
spent running from a no-longer-safehouse to one that was supposedly so. His mother   
cried a lot in those days; she couldn't be bothered with the twins or the babies, and Bill   
and Charlie were away at Hogwarts. So the burden had fallen on Percy.  
  
All the small, loving gestures of a parent had fallen from his mother and father to him,   
and it wasn't easy. The twins rarely listened, and Mum had blamed him if they made a   
racket with one of their amateurish pranks.  
  
But that was years ago. Fred and George had turned out all right, Ron was pretty   
obedient when not around Harry Potter, and Ginny was...just Ginny. Sweet and silly and   
always 'the girl.' They were something to be proud of...  
  
Percy straightened up, smoothed his robes carefully, and walked away. Even though   
the memories were painful, that was all they were. Memories, mere shadow and vapor,   
images in the mind. Now if only he could remember that when he fell asleep at night... 


End file.
